


Worthwhile

by stardropdream



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I missed you," he admits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthwhile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [songdances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/songdances/gifts).



> Aaaand another gift fic for Ana, since I couldn't decide which of the two fics I should focus on and ended up focusing on both. 
> 
> This takes place during The Coming of Arthur part II, in which Lancelot and Merlin are talking after Lancelot is knighted. The first few lines of dialogue are lifted directly from the show.

Merlin is smiling at him, the fire glowing across his face. “You’re a knight at last.” 

There’s a giddiness at the thought of it, something that still hasn’t settled inside of him, something that he still hasn’t processed – the one thing he’s wanted since as far back as he can remember, far before he ever even understood the weight of such a desire. A knight of Camelot. He’s smiling back – can’t help it, in the face of Merlin’s happiness, in the face of his own happiness—

“But for how long?” he asks, a note of teasing to his voice. 

“Who knows,” Merlin agrees, but their words are playful, light and airy despite the weight of the things to come the next day, the things caught in the wake of the battles already fought. The little conclave they’ve found themselves in is cold save for the fire at Lancelot’s back, and the others are well asleep. It’s just as well, he thinks, if only because Merlin is the closest he’s ever had to a true friend, a best friend, and it’s reassuring to speak with him again. If only because, of everyone, he knows that Merlin understands just how much this all means to him. 

The only other person, perhaps, is Gwen. But she is far on the other side of the room, well into sleep, and he doesn’t dare think of her for long for fear of the jagged, bruised spot in his heart left vacant only for her. 

So instead of thinking of her, he turns towards Merlin, eyebrows lifting, “What are you planning? And don’t even think about lying, I know you too well.”

Merlin sighs out, and at least doesn’t deny it. “It’s too difficult to explain.” 

“Tell me,” he insists. 

So Merlin tells him – of the Cup of Life, of how to defeat Morgana. He’s never forgotten Merlin’s power, never forgotten his devotion to Arthur, and now it’s a mission they both share. He’s worked his entire life for this moment, and there is no one he feels more worthy to follow. Arthur will be a good king someday, and he looks forward to seeing the kingdom he builds, and following him to that new world. Until then, though, he contents himself with the knowledge that he’ll do everything to help Merlin – that Merlin will trust him to do that. 

“You know, Merlin,” he says, smiling in the firelight, “You’re the one that Arthur should knight – you’re the bravest of us all. And he doesn’t even know it.” 

Merlin’s expression shifts, his eyes flickering in the light of the fire – and he looks only at Lancelot when he says, “He can’t. Not yet.” 

They speak a little more, making plans and then moving on to inconsequential things. Lancelot watches Merlin’s face, quietly. 

And then he says, “Are you cold?” 

He sits up, shifting away from the fire, but Merlin’s laughing and shaking his head, lifts his palm and murmurs into it. His eyes flame to life and when he uncurls his fingers, there’s the tiniest lick of fire that sparks up and then wisps away in a little curl of smoke.

“Being cold isn’t really a problem for me,” Merlin admits and Lancelot settles back down onto his side, propped up on one elbow and frowning thoughtfully. 

They settle back down into a small silence, warm and understanding. Lancelot nearly lapses into a sleep before Merlin shifts beside him.

He says, soft and quiet, “I missed you, you know.” 

“It’s been a long time,” Lancelot agrees, which isn’t really an acknowledgement and he knows it sounds weak even to his own ears, so instead he adds, “I missed you, too, Merlin.” 

Merlin smiles at him, low and secretive – but relieved, lighting up his eyes. Although, perhaps, that’s merely the fire burning behind Lancelot. He finds himself smiling back, though, and there’s that same quiet understanding that passes between the two of them. No matter how the years pass, they at least understand each other – and understand where everything else lies for them. 

And then Merlin leans in and kisses him like it’s the easiest thing in the world and Lancelot sighs out and kisses him back – almost hesitating, almost uncertain, because for all this he never really quite knows what to do. But Merlin is gentle, simply present, and Lancelot closes his eyes and sinks into the feeling of it all, of reminding himself what it is to belong, of being home again, of being with the people he’s sworn to protect. 

He dares not think of Gwen because there’s nothing more to think about. Perhaps if he keeps telling himself that, he’ll believe it. 

At least in that, Merlin understands. 

Their kisses are heated, but slow and gentle, a low burning kind of heat that never surges up to too much. They stay like that, pressing steadily closer together, Merlin’s hands on his shoulders, one of Lancelot’s falling almost tentatively, awkward, against the curve of Merlin’s hip. Their kisses are light, almost playful, but the kind of exchange between two long-lasting friends. 

It’s Merlin who breaks the kiss with a wide smile and a little giggle, and Lancelot breathes out, his hands lingering before he draws them back, opens his eyes to find Merlin beaming at him. He can’t help but match that happiness, feeling almost giddy with it despite the dangers they face the next day. 

There’s always hope, after all. He’s learned that from both Merlin – and Gwen. 

“It’s good you’re here,” Merlin says, quiet – an admittance he knows isn’t easy for Merlin to say, for all his destiny and all his determination when it comes to Arthur. 

Lancelot nods. “Yes… I’m glad I’m here.”


End file.
